


Rising : Falling

by crockermaid



Series: Kingdomstuck [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abuse, Kingdomstuck, M/M, Other, Past Child Abuse, Sadstuck, Seriously this is a mess, inspired by a friend's au, there's a scene where d gets hit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-17 16:10:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10597557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crockermaid/pseuds/crockermaid
Summary: The kingdom's a mess, no one fully understands what's going on inside of Derse.There's a sense of Deja Vu in D's life.---One of the many rambles I've written concerning this AU. If you have any questions comment





	

“ **You look ridiculous, prancin’ around like that.** ”

You glance over at your brother, noting the older teen’s smile like he didn’t mean it seriously. Those were the kind of comments he gave, insults that were never insulting. 

He’s glowing. Today you’re going to be crowned, today you were growing up. You can’t help but glow too. He’s sitting much more professionally than he used to, leg crossed over the other in his new robes. 

Your hands trail down to rub the soft fabric of your new jacket, a perfect fit for you. He insisted you get robes fashioned. This was a special occasion. It’s difficult to hold in your excitement. Your brother was going to be king, you were going to be official royalty, no longer underneath the ghost imprint of your late Mom and Dad. There’s no shame in what you’re doing. You don’t have to be embarrassed by getting excited anymore. 

You’re just a happy kid, now. Nothing wrong with it.

“ **oh shut up. i’m allowed to get excited.** ”

“ **I know. ‘m not sayin’-** ”

“ **i can see your eyes underneath the veil. ’s like the starry eyes you get with your boyfriend-oh, oops, i mean the prospit prince.** ”

The face he makes is one of the reasons you love your brother. That hidden fluster, the rolling of his eyes, uncrossing his legs like he’s going to come up and slap you. 

You don’t flinch. This surprises both of you. He sits down, with this proud smirk. Legs cross again, dignified.

“ **‘ve grown up.** ”

“ **just cause i’m not scared of you hittin me don’t mean i grew up. just means i’m better at not flinchin.** ”

God. Your brother’s smile in reaction, relaxing and sitting back against the velvet chair. Eyes scanning over your clean, fancy outfit. 

The way that he grins and acts like he’s a new dad or an uncle, a protective guardian. Proud of his kid for finishing tasks, ones that he didn’t believe you could accomplish.

You love him. A weird, “platonic” love.

The kind that makes your heart and cheeks warm, the kind that makes you never want to leave his side.

But. You’re gonna have to.

Knowing that there were only a couple minutes before the ceremony starts, you stand and walk over to him casually. It’s such a normal action, your brother showing off a faintly stubbled cheek and letting you place a kiss there. 

He reaches up to take your hand with his soft gloved one. You can feel the tough fingers under the silk fabric. His hand is one you’ll always remember. One no one can match.

“ **are you gonna unite the two kingdoms? make lil hybrid babies?** ”

“ **Shut up-I mean. Heh. We’ll see.** ”

Your stomach knots as you look at his smile, close to a sharp kick. The toothy, handsome one he only gave show tickets for few to see. Chapped lips, chipped teeth, charm. Your gut said that this would be the last time he truly smiles at you. 

You brush it off as paranoia. It’s  _ always _ paranoia. 

He loves you.

  
  


“ **You look ridiculous.** ”

You stand up straight, eyes wide in almost shock that your brother spoke up. You note the new features your older brother has. There’s a faint, blonde beard on his chin, hair on his cheeks, everywhere. He looks older. Of course, he does. You, on the other hand, still looked like you did on coronation day. Except, in contrast to your brother’s wider, now built frame, you’ve gotten skinnier. You look more like a well-styled doll than anything, a present you’d give a rich niece.

Fingers trail down to rub the soft fabric, an old outfit refashioned to fit you. He insisted that a new outfit wasn’t needed for public speaking; this wasn’t a special occasion. You had shrunk since the first measurement, it just took a couple stitches to make it wearable again. It was from when you were a teen, the outfit meant a lot then, but now. Now it just was a reminder of before the sudden seriousness your brother took.

“ **what, i’m not allowed to be excited?** ” 

“ **That isn’t what I’m sayin’. I’m sayin’ it gives a bad image to us. You’re royalty.** ”  

His tone matches that of a scolding parent, except one who would ground you for weeks just for forgetting a single chore. There was so much weight to each word, heavy enough to break the thin string between calm and anger.

You hated when he got like this. It scared you. Words are boiling in your throat, bubbling over suddenly by your fingers tracing a years-old stain dug into the cloth. This wasn’t the luxury you had as a teen. You wouldn’t consider yourself even close to looking as put together as back then. There’s hidden blotches and discolorations all over, tucked under the clean fabric and put out of view. You were that stain, now. Put out of sight. Out of mind.

“ **i certainly don’t look like it.** ”

He gets to his feet fast, towering over you. 

Your instinct is to flinch; you don’t know why.

The next moments are a blur, leaving you looking at the floor with a burning feeling on your cheek. You didn’t even process the sound of clothed skin on bare ringing out into the stone hallways.  

You can feel the imprints of tough fingers under the silk fabric. His hand is one you’ll always remember. One no one can match. 

He sits back down, looking bored. As if nothing had just happened as if everything was the same. You both stay silent in baited breath. It doesn’t feel right for you to speak; the silence is heavy enough that it pulls down your vocal cords.

“ **You haven’t grown.** ”

The words hit harder than they should’ve.

“ **‘re just as bad as you were. Just as weak, too. Maybe a lil more** .”

His insults are insults now, there’s never any teasing tone in them. He genuinely means them.

You hate when he gets like this. Guilt floods you, and you pull back more. 

This catches his attention, you running away. You’ve never run away from him before. This is one of the first times you’ve been scared of him.

But he smiles. That same chapped lips, chipped teeth, charm. He smiles and it isn’t that old, flooding happiness you got so long ago. It felt like lifetimes since that smile caused a dancing fire in your stomach, in your whole body.

You instead feel icy slush run through your veins, dirty and cold. He makes you feel dirty now. He makes you feel unsafe. The same way you’ve felt before so early in your life when he  _ protected  _ you. Your gut says it’s going to get worse.

But. He’s your brother, right?

You brush it off as paranoia. It’s  _ always _ paranoia. 

He loves you.

Right? 

 

“ **Ridiculous.** ”

You don’t look up at the scowling word. You don’t bother meeting eyes with your older brother. You don’t  _ care _ what he looks like, you couldn’t be bothered by seeing how much he had changed. There wasn’t a point. You didn’t need to look up at him to know.

All the evidence was right in front of you. A happy, bubbling toddler, not only five years old. He has blonde, messy hair, soft skin, red eyes. Your pride and joy, your little brother. 

He’s being scolded because of playing. Messing with dollies his auntie had given him for his birthday. He’s wearing fresh robes, brand new and fitting his chubby body perfectly. Dark red and purple, silvers, tailored just for him. They’re as soft as his skin, nothing irritable that would prevent your little brother from playing and enjoying himself. They were going out to see their people today, and your little brother knew how important it was to see all these new people. It was important.

“ **is he not allowed to be excited?** ”

“ **No.** ”

From the bottom of your heart, you pray that Dave isn’t going to remember this. Remember that he wasn’t allowed to be excited. Dave. Dave was a child. You feel that same frustration bubbling, one that makes you gather him close to you. He lets out a noise as the doll falls out of his hand, and you feel guilty.

Shushing him, ignoring that your older brother was even there, you gently tug the doll back into his small fingers. He lets out a happy coo, glad to have his toy back. It filled him with such joy, such a simple object making Dave grin and giggle like someone has presented him with mounds of gold.

Why can’t you be like this? Why isn’t it allowed to find this joy in everything?

“ **he’s just a** **_child_ ** **.** ”

Your voice cracks.

The footsteps are obvious. They’re loud and heavy, and press deep into your mind and muscle memory. 

You flinch.

Arms wrap around Dave, making sure the doll was in his grip, and you curl around him like a guardian angel, shielding. You’re not letting him hurt your little boy. Any backlash that happens will not be hurting him. The only noise you can hear is the quiet cooing and “talking” Dave did with his doll. Your eyes stay wide, your body tense. 

Being this scared was common at this point. Wanting to run away was, too. But you had nowhere to go if you left with Dave and his brother. You’d be poor, stuck in the ghettos of Derse, nothing to your name except false royalty. You’d be disowned.

You don’t feel the hand sharply on your back, you don’t hear the sound of a gloved hand hitting the canvas of skin already covered in bruises. You’re expecting to feel the imprints of tough fingers under the silk fabric. His hand you’ll always remember. One no one can match. You’re surprised, to say the least. You had prepped for pain but… He seems satisfied with your reaction enough.

“ **He’ll grow.** ”

God, you hope Dave doesn’t. When he does, you’ll have to leave; everyone will if you don’t die first. He’ll grow up and become the ruler along with his brother, and you’ll be without your pride and joys.

You don’t want to lose them. You want them to be kids forever, always innocent, always having that light in their eye and finding the joy in the smallest of objects. It sounds cliche, dramatic, but you don’t want them to grow and feel pain. You don’t want their oldest brother to treat them like dolls. They should only play with ones their aunties make them. 

They shouldn’t be thrown around or played with instead.

He kicks you lightly when you don’t respond. It hurts enough that it might as well be spiked shoes pressing into your spine. He knew that spot was bruised. He knew. Sadistic. 

Even if you’re not looking at him, you  _ know  _ he’s smiling. That chapped lips, chipped teeth, charm,  _ lying _ smile. Smiles are supposed to make you feel warm, you would be protected by someone who smiles at you. Smiles are supposed to make you happy and giddy. Like when Rosie smiles as Dave and hands him a new dolly, like when his brother smiles up at you and cups your cheeks.

They’re supposed to let you know that everything was going to be okay.

Things weren’t going to be okay.

You can’t brush it off as paranoia. It’s  _ never _ paranoia. 

He doesn’t love you.


End file.
